


No Kind of Trouble

by Theconsultingdetective



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boarding School!AU, M/M, Smoking, highschool!au, wrong side of the tracks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theconsultingdetective/pseuds/Theconsultingdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sit down, young man," the headmaster demanded, running out of patience for the newly cocky delinquent.<br/>"I'm fine. Thanks."<br/>"Sit. Down."<br/>"Only if I get the nice chair."<br/>"If you don't sit down, I will be forced to suspend not only you, but that <em>boy-</em>" he spits out the word like a sour taste, "-you've been spending so much time with." Castiel sits, without a further word, though his eyes are clearly filled with spite and contempt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Kind of Trouble

"Why don't you go ahead and sit down, Mr..."  
"Novak. No," the dark haired boy snapped obstinately.  
"...you don't have to. That's fine. Just stand."  
"I will." The older, doughy man with a reflective bald head took a seat behind the polished wood desk, leaving Castiel standing on the opposite side.  
"Now, Mr. Novak, as you may or may not know, I called you in here to speak with you about your behaviour the last few days. You've been very...boisterous, as I understand it. Which is not like you at all, Mr. Novak. Would you like to explain yourself?" the man suggested. Castiel just shrugged.  
"There's not really much to explain, Zachary."  
"Mr. Michaelson, please."  
"Sure, Zachary. What do you want me to tell you? I'm just a bad student. It's in my blood," he replied dismissively. "Can I go now?" he asked, obviously having no desire to stand in that room with the ancient-of-days headmaster. "I just really don't wanna miss any of my comparative literature class. Knowledge is power, after all, isn't it?" he smirked.  
"Sit down, young man," the headmaster demanded, running out of patience for the newly cocky delinquent.  
"I'm fine. Thanks."  
"Sit. Down."  
"Only if I get the nice chair."  
"If you don't sit down, I will be forced to suspend not only you, but that _boy-_ " he spits out the word like a sour taste, "-you've been spending so much time with." Castiel sits, without a further word, though his eyes are clearly filled with spite and contempt. 

"Good boy. Now, then, let's discuss your permanent record..." the headmaster began. Castiel had to stifle a roll of his eyes, slumping back wearily in his chair.  
"Okay...?"  
"As I understand it, you'd like to attend some arts college, is that not correct? In the north somewhere-New York or a similar place?" His opinion of such schools is evident in the mocking tone of his voice.  
"Yes," Castiel replied, almost daring him to say something else.  
"Mmhmm. Well, I can tell you right now, I find it unlikely that you'll ever manage to get into such a place without a good word from your preparatory school headmaster." Castiel had never had the displeasure of speaking with Colton Prep's "fearless leader", but he had no idea he could be so conniving, dangling first his newfound friend's safety, then his own college chances, over his head with undeniable skill. Dean had told him-well, Dean had told him a great number of things, not all of which were to be so readily believed. But among the things that were, he'd said that getting caught up with people like him (the decidedly "wrong side of the tracks" types, ready and ever so willing to corrupt innocents like Castiel) would only lead to further trouble for them both. Castiel, nevertheless, had leapt in headlong, a choice which he still did not consider a mistake.  
"Mr. Novak. Are you listening to me?" the headmaster asked sharply. Castiel fiddled with the pen he tucked behind his ear and nodded.  
"I am hanging on your every word, Zachary," he replied, sarcasm thick in his voice.  
"Good. Now, young man, you've got to straighten up and fly right. Understood? That means no more time spent with that delinquent-Winmore or Wincher or whatever his name is."  
"Winchester," Castiel grumbled, but the headmaster simply stormed ahead.  
"And no more missed classes or staying out past curfew. Do I make myself clear, Novak?"  
"Absolutely transparent, Michaelson," he mimicked saccharinely. "Now, can I please go back to my classes? I know it would just be a pity if I missed another second of Mr. Henrikson's enlightened teachings." Zachary sighed.  
"Go on." Castiel smirked.  
"See you, boss."

When Cas arrived at the pond's edge, where he and Dean spent most of their days, the dirty blond boy was smoking a cigarette, his bare feet dipped in the cold, clear water.  
"Hey, champ," he greeted, seeing him approach.  
"Hello, Dean." Cas kicked off his shoes and sat down beside him, receiving a greeting splash that sprayed his shins. Cas laughed and splashed back, Dean's jeans now soaked from the knee down.   
"You wanna initiate this, you'd better know what you're gettin' into," Dean challenged.   
"Yes, yes, you're very intimidating," Cas agreed, rolling his eyes. Dean smirked and, without another word, promptly splashed him with a wall of water.  
"No fair using your soccer legs, Winchester," he laughed, shoving him.  
"Yes fair," Dean replied, shoving him back. "And don't put out my cigarette, either, Novak. These things are expensive."  
"Share, then."  
"No," Dean said firmly.  
"Yes, Dean," Cas shot back teasingly. Grinning, he gave him a push into the lake, Dean dragging him with him as he fell, both of them shrieking and laughing like mad.  
"You ass!" he grinned, soaked head to toe, the cigarette held up over his head, still burning. "You almost ruined my cig! Jesus!" Cas laughed, beaming, and tackled him.  
"I'll do more than that," he promised, weight supported by the water around them as he wrapped his legs around Dean's side.  
"Oh, yeah?"  
"Yeah," Cas assured him. "Unless you share it with me." Dean sighed.  
"Fine, fine," he agreed. "But I get to hold it." Cas smiled like the cat that ate the canary.  
"You just wanna have your fingers close to these lips of mine," he murmured, wrapping his legs around Dean's chest, leaning up to seal his lips around the filter and take a deep inhale.  
"Can you blame me?" he replied. Cas pulled back, blowing a big puff of grey smoke into Dean's face.  
"Not entirely," he smirked, and leant down for a smoke laden kiss, before snatching the cigarette out of Dean's fingers and taking a long drag.  
"You little-" Dean laughed, kicking off a massive splash fight between the duo. 

With Dean emerging victorious, they hauled themselves out of the lake and lay out in the sun, their matching uniform shirts hung on a tree to dry, wearing only drenched jeans and matching smiles.  
"I hear you met with our fearless leader," Dean said, twirling strand of Cas' soaked hair around his fingers.  
"I did," Cas nodded. "He told me to stay away from you."  
"Oh?" Dean asked smugly. "And how's that workin' for ya?"  
"You tell me," Cas answered, looking up from the spot where his head lay on Dean's stomach.  
"Touché," Dean laughed.  
"I told you so, though," Dean said, staring up at the sky through the trees.  
"What'd you tell me?" Cas asked, though he knew what Dean would say.  
"Told you I was trouble." Cas smiled and crawled up to lay next to Dean.  
"No kind of trouble I'd rather be in," he said softly, leaning over and pressing their lips together.


End file.
